


Coping

by jbyjosh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Character Death, Death, F/M, Gen, Scallison, Sex, Stydia, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbyjosh/pseuds/jbyjosh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia and Stiles find a way to deal with Allison's unexpected death. Takes place between 3.23 and 3.24, includes sequences not included in the TV show. Teen Wolf owns all characters.</p><p>Disclaimer: This is my first fanfic so do be kind in your comments!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coping

“Sti—“ Lydia breathed, unable to complete the sentence. Her piercing scream could still be heard by the young fighters battling for their lives even after Alison had fallen. Her hands cupped around Stiles’ freezing hands enveloping them completely, trying to bring some warmth into his cold body. His eyes spoke of the pain he was suffering, intensified when Lydia’s had felt the death of one of their own. Lydia wanted more than anything to remind the teenage boy that it wasn’t something of his doing but the Nogitsune’s. He had no blame except being guilty of being the physical form of the Japanese spirit. 

“Ssshh …” he didn’t give her room to talk as he gathered what remained of his strength and tried to get to his feet. She helped instantly. 

Together, they hobbled through the gate that Scott had ran through minutes earlier to join the rest of the gang who were engaged in battle. Lydia’s scream hadn’t prepared them for what awaited them: Alison’s body laying on the ground, head cradled in Scott’s arms as she spoke her final words. Stiles and Lydia were too far to catch them but they saw the movement of her lips. Her beautiful porcelain-doll like face was free from pain and she was totally at peace as her last sentence left her lips. 

———————

The next few days were a blur for the gang. Mr Argent made sure everyone got the cover story right, that Alison had been killed in a mugging gone horribly wrong. After the funeral service, they huddled together at Scott’s home where his mother Melissa prepared cookies and tons of milk in lieu of alcohol since they were all still underage. Mr Argent grieved quietly on his own in the apartment that he had shared with Alison after her mother and his wife had passed away earlier the year before. He politely declined their invitation to mourn together with her friends. Losing a daughter wasn’t really like losing a friend, no matter how close each of them had been to Alison. 

Stiles was sitting on Isaac’s bed, the pessimistic teenager had gone off to mope over Alison and frankly, Stiles didn’t have a bad thing to say about the boy for now. He didn’t even look up when the bedroom door with its paint peeling off creaked open. He knew right from the footsteps that it was Lydia who had come in search for him and hoped that she wasn't trying to drag him back downstairs to rejoin the others. Scott had disappeared off as well over the course of the day on his bike, muttering something about going on a long ride to clear his mind as he snatched his keys off the oak dining table when his mum was laying out munchies for their guests. Everyone had their own coping mechanisms but regardless of how they approached the matter, it seemed like they were in the same state of despair and hurt despite the front that each projected. 

Lydia’s hands touched Stiles’ jaw tenderly, similar to how she had that night in the tunnel passage. Her mascara was smudged from all the crying she had been doing the last couple of days, eyes also red because of that. With a finger she lifted up his chin, he too had been crying, leaned in till their noses touched. Stiles could feel her breath on his lips and even though it was completely inappropriate to be thinking such lustful thoughts, he wanted nothing more than to taste her lips. It wouldn't be his first time, considering that they had kissed before but it felt different now. Everything had changed the moment the Nogitsune had entered Beacon Hills and more so when the Nogitsune-controlled Oni had plunged his blade into Alison’s side after she had taken down one of them to save Isaac. Stiles thought briefly about how Isaac had felt, with the knowledge that he was more than responsible for Alison’s death seeing as her guard was momentarily down shooting arrows into the Oni forcing him to the ground till she rescued him. 

“Lydia, I don’t—” Stiles spoke, words incomplete and incomprehensible when she went in for it and locked their lips together. Unlike the past, this kiss was bridled with passion. 

One thing led to another, hands began moving and exploring the other’s body. Lydia unbuttoned the white oxford shirt that Stiles had donned for the wake, discarding it to the already clothes-strewn floor when she was done as he undid her top. They moved about as though both knew exactly what they were doing but in reality, neither had any real clue where this was headed. Was Stiles really about to score with the girl of his dreams? Lydia Martin was the gorgeous redhead, a beauty with a genius level IQ and as of late, a banshee with the gift to locate the dead. He had been infatuated with her for years and this was the first actual chance he had with her. He thought back to the passionate first-time experience he had with Malia in the sanitarium’s basement surrounded by boxes of old dusty records. It had been magical even though the setting was totally unromantic and lacked all the makings of a wonderful deflowering: scented candles, soft lighting, soothing music, strawberries and whipped cream. With all this Nogitsune business, he had thought he would really die a virgin till then and was glad that he managed to finally pop his cherry with the over confident were-coyote. Lydia now had both hands on his bare chest, a bed of lean yet firm muscles, vastly different from the rippling physiques of his werewolf friends. Her clothes had joined his in a messy pile on the ground as they both fell back onto Isaac’s bed. In that moment, Stiles was glad the usually-equally-as-messy-as-Scott Isaac did not have stray articles of clothing lying about his bed or hopefully its insides, considering its potential mood kill effect if said garments were discovered by Lydia. 

The kissing resumed with their hands now free to roam the flesh of the other, no longer inhabited by the fabrics that had previously confined them. He stopped, “I don’t have a condom,” he managed to say as he pried his lips away from Lydia, a feat by no means easy when Lydia was such an amazing kisser. 

“I don’t care,” she whispered, acrylic nail extensions digging into his pale skin as the making out intensified. His hands had found their way to her svelte hips. ‘God, she’s beautiful,’ he thought to himself. 

Stiles could feel the fabric of his boxers tightening as blood rushed downward. It was an expected response especially when practically the love of your life, dressed only in her underwear, was in the midst of laying an oral assault on you. 

They stripped, leaving nothing between them but underwear and even so, Lydia saw to it that those tatty boxers of Stiles were quickly gotten rid of. Even in a grief fuelled lust, her eye for fashion remained and she refused to be near something that distasteful. They continued kissing, lips pressed together and tongues on an exploratory quest for dominance as both fought for control over the situation. Possibly a personality trait from being a banshee, she was unrelenting and refused to let Stiles have even the slightest control over the situation. Slipping her hand southward, she felt him, hard and ready, a bead of pre-cum glistening on the head of his shaft, just begging for some attention. 

She wrapped her around Stiles’ member, her tongue making brief contact with the head before she glanced up at him. All the signs of her as a sexual deviant were there. He nodded and managed to get the words out, “God, that feels amazing!” before her tongue returned to the trace the length of his shaft. The gesture left a thin layer of saliva which glistened in the afternoon sun filtering through the windows. “Urhm, should we get the blinds?” he asked cautiously, as she continued working his tool. Lydia said nothing, because her mouth was full having engulfed Stiles’. She hadn’t even choked going down on him. Stiles didn’t know whether to be glad for that. He was by no means small, but he knew that werewolves did enjoy an … enlargement after receiving the bite as evidenced by Scott’s sudden increased confidence about the locker room. Subconsciously, he wondered how had douchebag Jackson or the straight twin Aiden measured up against him. 

Lydia busied herself slurping noisily on Stiles’ dick while he shut his eyes and enjoyed what was probably once in a lifetime opportunity. Frankly, he didn't know what he ought to be doing. A part of him wanted to rest his hands on the back of her head and guide but feared the gesture might have come across a little too rough. So instead, found himself gripping the sheets and willing himself not to blow this too soon. Lydia sensed his discomfort and dislodged Stiles’ hardened member from her mouth with a soft plop and ordered him to touch himself. “But, but, you’re already doing that for me,” he protested. 

“Stiles! You’re not only made up of your dick. Touch your nipples or something,” she commanded as she took him into her mouth once more. 

Stiles shook his head in disbelief. He was usually accustomed to getting off in his bedroom whenever he was sure his dad wasn’t in, typically in the fastest manner possible yanking off to a porno. Then, his hands were usually busy furiously jerking himself off that he didn’t have to worry about what to do with idle hands. The idea of his now free hands to touch his nipples, which were extremely sensitive, was foreign to him and frankly, something he wasn't completely comfortable with. He pretended to not have heard what Lydia said, continuing in the same position as he neared his orgasm. Stiles thought Lydia didn't mind his disobeying her instructions but eventually she stopped, right as he was about to cum, and stood up. Both her hands grabbed his aggressively and placed them on his chest. Her fingers guided his and began tweaking his still soft nubs. In the seconds that followed, they too were like his dick: hard and seeking attention. “Now, continue. I can’t be doing everything,” she said as she descended back down and continued working on him. He now knew better than to ignore her a second time and continuously pinched himself lightly and was surprised to find that he rather enjoyed the sensations that it brought. The sudden pleasure he was experiencing left his pleasure cortex in a jumbled mess.

Stiles came close to blowing his load when Lydia, who was somehow in sync with him, managed to anticipate the oncoming orgasm and stopped it by gripping his shaft tightly with her perfectly manicured nails. Doing so delayed the orgasm. She straddled him, adjusting herself onto him as she searched for a comfortable position in his lap. He could feel the skimpy material of her lace panties, moist, rubbing against his naked thigh. They resumed kissing; him being able to taste the light almost saltish taste of his precum on her lips as he explored her mouth with his tongue. It wasn’t completely foreign to him, every teenage boy had experimented right? But that wasn't enough to put him off even if he thought it was a tad weird that he was tasting himself. Lydia’s method of working out her sorrows and aggression was worth that awkward moment. He wondered what Isaac would think or rather, do, to him if he discovered that Stiles had hooked up with Lydia in bed. Coupled with the tragic loss of Allison, he might go into full berserker rage and rip poor little Stiles to shreds with his claws.

Lydia was an extremely attentive lover, Stiles could see why she was so popular with guys in school. Even Scott had once made out with her while on a werewolf high. 

“Take my bra off,” she ordered, her hazel brown eyes piercing holes into him. 

Stiles followed, a little afraid of disobeying her. “Good boy,” she said, cupping her hands round his head and clashed their lips together once more. 

They could both feel his saliva-slick love muscle pressing in between their abdomens. It pulsed with desire, standing at full attention. 

“Little Stiles looks excited,” she said in between short breaths. 

“Little?” Stiles asked offendedly. ‘You’re more than average!’ he reassured himself, refusing to let Lydia’s comment shake his confidence. 

“Decent,” Lydia corrected, she was cut off as Stiles decided to take the initiative to act first; he busied his lips laying soft kisses on her face and trailed them down her neck. 

Meanwhile his fingers didn't stand idly, applying some of the pleasuring techniques he had learnt earlier on her, gently exploring her nipples. They stood erect in the cold unheated room. After some exploring, Stiles knew it was a weak point of hers. When he was working those sensitive spots, she was putty in his hands. She twisted and turned under him as he played with them, reacting with a loud shriek when he gave it the first lick. The excitement she enjoyed saw her natural juices soaking through her near-crotchless panties and was collecting on his thigh. Yet she was hardly embarrassed, ignoring the whole mess as Stiles leapt at the opportunity to feast on her body. With his free hand, he took the liberty of examining other parts of her body he hadn't had the chance to previously. He searched her back, tracing each vertebrae till he found her secret ticklish spot. Blowing into her ear set her off too. By the end of the day, the sexual mystery that was Lydia Martin, a marvel to him for almost a decade, would be an unexplored puzzle no more. 

“Do you want to?” he asked her. 

“More than ever,” she replied and threw him flat down onto the bed with surprising strength. 

Stiles tried to pull himself up, wanting to be on top but she forced him back down again. He wondered whether she was more than a banshee, it was disturbing the amount of muscle that seemed to lay hidden underneath her petite figure. Perhaps it was just a means of compensating against his own unfitness. “Stay down.” She made a show of removing her soiled underwear, delicately rolling it off her hips and down her legs. She spun the scrap of thin fabric around her finger for a few seconds then tossed it behind her, not a care as to where it would land. For the record, the duo later discovered it hanging off the lampshade very unsubtly. 

Lydia spread her legs to expose a waxed pussy, positioning herself above Stiles’ 90-degree angle erection, looked him straight in the eyes then plunged her body down. Together, they both moaned, pretty loudly. It was pretty impossible how nobody downstairs heard the ruckus they were creating and came to check on them. Lydia coped like a pro, not even calling out in pain, but pleasure while Stiles’ took multiple breaths trying to control himself and preventing himself from becoming a premature ejaculator. Having penetrated Lydia 30 seconds before, it was 10 minutes (at least) too soon to be exploding into her. He didn’t know whether he should or was even allowed to cum in her since he wasn't wearing a condom. 

Steadying her with his hands, he pulled out then thrusted upwards, allowing her to feel him impale her once more. She had lifted herself off him in such a seductive manner, a strand of pre-cum and nature’s lubrication trailing in its wake. They moaned in unison. She was more vocal. Lydia’s long nails clawed their ways into Stile’s chest as she gyrated her hips, allowing him to reach an assortment of angles in her. They left red angry streaks on his skin but neither of them cared, each too caught in the moment of sexual ecstasy. All they felt was pleasure. It was a means of escaping the pain and guilt that plagued them since Alison’s death. 

Lydia’s entire body shook and her crimson hair shimmered in the light. Lydia was a goddess of sexual desire to Stiles. He felt his orgasm building up and knew it would come before he could stop himself, giving way to a short and very succinct warning, “I’m cumming!” She said nothing, but continued to work her hips, edging him to completion. 

“Fill me up,” Lydia begged, refusing to dismount him. 

Stiles didn't want to think that Lydia seemed to be washing away her pain with his seed. It made no sense but seemed entirely what she was trying at. He scrambled, telling her to stop but she rejected him, staying fixed and changing nothing. A wave of pleasure overcame Stiles, evident on his face as he climaxed. Lydia remained still to relish the moment as he erupted within her, depositing millions of potential baby-makers into her body. Stiles had been a racket but she kept silent, probably because she hadn’t shared the release which he revelled in. When he was done spasming, she simply climbed off, pulled her dishevelled clothing from the ground and got dressed. After one final look to Stiles, she left the room, leaving Stiles to wonder how she could be so unemotional about sex, going back downstairs with him leaking down her thigh as though nothing had happened. 

Just as Stiles thought, Lydia said nothing out of the ordinary the following morning. For all intents and purposes, they were back to being just friends.


End file.
